Mom, What Is Love?
by onceuponacaptain
Summary: Last "chapter": Oneshot about Killian and his thoughts on all of his and Emma's encounters, starting from when they met. Takes place after Dark Hallow. Somewhat fluffy but very angsty at the end. NOT A SONGFIC but end is inspired by "Say Something" by A Great Big World. CHARACTER DEATH BE FOREWARNED. (Full summary inside.)
1. Mom, What Is Love?

**A/N: ****Warning: This is a very long oneshot.** Sorry about that...I wrote this during school, so sorry if it's slightly choppy with the somewhat dual third-person thing I have going on. If you stick with this, I love you and I will send you virtual chocolate cupcakes through the screen. May or may not be a multi-chapter fic. Reviews, or anything else greatly appreciated!  


**Also, Emma may be slightly OOC because I imagine this is taking place around 3-6 months after everyone returns from Neverland (safely, Pan in Pandora's Box, Henry's heart back, David able to leave, etc.) and Emma and Hook have been dating for a while. Emma's slightly more open because everyone has stopped putting all the pressure on her, Neal has for whatever reason given up on her, and Killian has knocked some of Emma's walls down.**

**Disclaimer: Eddy and Adam own the characters, at least they do for now until I'm a billionaire and buy the show and the characters off them...**

* * *

Emma began to sigh as she put the keys in the ignition, then thinking twice_-_she didn't need to show Henry her stress and frustration-she turned around to face her son and smiled at him instead.

_Her _son. Even if she only had him for this week, and had to surrender him up later, as per her, Regina's, and Neal's deal when the three of them had arrived from Neverland over four months ago, Emma felt the simple joy that being with Henry brought her. Somewhere in her heart, Emma wanted her son to herself, but she knew that Regina and Neal were people Henry loved and cared about, and she wanted to put his needs before her own. Hell, she'd learned how to do that a long time ago, on the job as sheriff, and in her life.

Bringing up one of the subjects that caused Henry to launch into unending chatter as the yellow bug pulled out of the school parking lot, Emma asked, "How are you, kid? How's Neal?" Henry had seemed to be pressing for a reunion of his mother and father; she had even overheard him talking over "Operation Yellow Bug" with a friend of his but, as the two adults knew, Henry was unlikely to succeed, especially with the...developments that had taken place lately between Emma and a certain leather-clad man.

* * *

Henry almost laughed to himself. Emma still thought he was on Operation Yellow Bug? That had just been a cover name. He was smarter than that. Oh well...she'd find out soon enough. Hopefully his friend would just _hurry_ up. He had better entertain Emma in the meantime, to keep the cover intact.

Although he hated lying to his mom, he just hoped that he wouldn't overdo it. But her lie detector had been pretty..._inaccurate_ lately, to say the least, so Henry considered himself relatively safe.

* * *

Emma had to stifle a laugh at the level of enthusiasm in her son's voice as he responded to her.

"I'm good! Neal's good too! He offered to take both of us to Disneyworld for Christmas, which would be _really_ cool!"

Although it would seem fairly ironic to her, Emma kept some of her attention on her son as the words streamed out of him.

"What do you think, Mom? Wouldn't it be so fun?"

Emma met his eyes, looking at the mirror as she did so. They contained an unusual amount of excitement and Emma couldn't help but smile. "I don't know, kid. Regina might want you around, so she's not lonely."

As if. It was mostly a ploy to get around the whole Neal thing, because after the unlikely crew ended up back in Storybrooke after Neverland, _Robin Hood and son_, of all people, ended up traveling the realms and landed in the little town. Regina, having told the story of the man with the lion tattoo to the rest of the crew on the ship during their journey back, was utterly surprised to meet him. He and Roland, his son, had changed Regina into a better woman and a fairer mayor for the town, something all appreciated, although there were times people were still intimidated by Regina because of who she had been. Emma knew Regina deserved better things after what she had gone through, and didn't despise the woman for having a better life than her, although she was tempted to at times.

"Please? Regina had Robin and Roland and Neal really, _really_ wants us to go..."

Damn. He was using those adorable puppy eyes on her (ones that could only be rivaled by a different, somewhat more playful man in her life) again.

Emma maneuvered the car into the driveway and parked it. She sighed mentally; obviously Operation Yellow Bug was still in full swing. There was only one thing she could think of doing to stop it.

She turned around to meet Henry's gaze directly.

"Henry, is this about getting me back together with Neal? Because, kid, if you want the truth, the only thing we really want to have is you, and nothing else."

* * *

Henry realized _he_ was supposed to be back already. Where was he? Henry knew he couldn't stall for very much longer and he was getting impatient.

"Patience is a virtue..." he muttered to himself, a motto he received from Belle and his days at the library.

* * *

As soon as Emma stepped out of the car, she found herself being tugged toward the door, being forced to unlock it at the rate of an Olympic sprinter, and being dragged to the living room as if her life depended on being seated and already in the room.

"Henry..." Emma muttered, somewhat puzzled and confused.

Shock, confusion, a twinge of annoyance, puzzlement and much, much more flitted across Henry's face as Emma waited for him to formulate a response. He was as stubborn as her and Neal, and she knew she couldn't push him to talk.

"Didn't you love Neal? Wasn't he your true love?" Henry's voice was somewhat of a whisper, kind of pained and kind of wondering at the same time.

Emma met his gaze before she looked down at her hand and her wrist where a shoelace used to be.

"Henry...of course I loved Neal. I still love him. I just...I'm not, I can't be, in love with him. Of course he was my first love. But looking back, he could never have been my true and only love. Even if he hadn't deserted me, or abandoned me, it just...wouldn't have worked out. We were young, irresponsible and immature. Neal was in love with me, but he chose fear over love and I can't have feelings for a man like that. The only thing I really love about him is that he gave me you."

She smiled, hoping to placate Henry's curiosity, but she couldn't help but remember it all as she spoke the words-Tallahassee, the yellow bug, the watches, the keychain she'd given him, Tamara, him leaving her again and again and-_No_. Emma put a stop to the memories, to the assault on her heart, and focused on her son, hoping he hadn't caught the smallest of tears forming in her eyes.

* * *

Guilt sort of overwhelmed Henry at causing his mother to relive the painful memories his dad had given her. But _someone _was taking forever...He was curious as to what his mother would say next to his next question, though.

He knew his mom would consider it. When he believed in her and his dad getting back together, he knew somewhere deep within in him that it wasn't possible. He saw the way looked at Neal, but whatever it was, it was definitely, _positively _not true love.

He'd seen true love. And it looked like his mother had already found it.

* * *

"Mom? If what you and Neal had wasn't true love, what is love, then?"

Henry's question threw Emma off guard for a second. _What is love_? She wasn't quite certain what to think or say at first, and the two sat there, looking into each other's eyes.

The torrent of thoughts that suddenly burst into Emma's head was to an extent very different than the ones running through Henry's. She considered everything-who her true friends were. Who had tried to break down her walls without breaking her. Who had given up everything for her, putting her happiness before their own, and who she had done for in return.

Graham, dying in her arms. Henry, oh her amazing, talented Henry, eating the poisoned apple pie for her to _just believe_, David and Mary Margaret, trying to get her to let them in, how they always found each other, David always trying to be the father that she never let herself believe she deserved.

Emma, not without a wince, remembered Neal running away from her.

But she also remembered August, trying to make up everything he'd done wrong. She remembered Belle seeing the good in Rumple, and Rumple trying to show Neal that good within him. She thought of the lengths Ariel went to to find Eric, and how he hadn't even flinched when she said she was a mermaid. How Robin accepted how broken Regina was, and how he tried to mend everything wrong and teach her how to be the hero.

And above it all, she pictured a certain roguish pirate.

"Henry," Emma said, breaking the silence, hating that her voice was smaller as she pictured a certain pair of ocean blue eyes, "Love is coming back for someone. It's trying to fix someone when you know you can't. Love is giving someone space when they need it, learning how to understand their needs better than they do. It's when you feel their pain and make it yours, when their hopes and dreams and fears become yours too. When you love someone, your day is brighter when you see them, and you feel happy just being around them, even if sometimes you want to smack them." She chuckled softly at this part of her speech, and stopped for air, realizing that she had raised her voice during the impromptu speech.

"Henry, no matter what, if you love someone, you _never _leave them. And if you lose that someone, you give up _everything_ just to come back for them and find them."

Images once again flooded Emma's head.

The "blacksmith." How, on the beanstalk, he had messed with her head, but helped her and healed her and gave her hope for a better life, so much that it scared her. Giving back Aurora's heart. Coming back to Storybrooke but letting her help him and heal him and plant a seed of something other than revenge in his heart. Offering to make peace with the "crocodile" for her son. How he had done everything to help his brother, how loyal he was to his crew. How he never let go of the memory of his first love, the one he cared about and still did care about. And the careful rapport he built with her, how he understood her desperation, broke down her walls by staying away at all the right times. The kiss, how he fell, how they fell, how he was always ever the gentleman. His patience, his pain, always putting her first. _That's love_.

* * *

He knew at once that his plan, his friendship with the newcomer was right, because he could see how his mother loved a certain pirate in her eyes.

Henry didn't know what to say. And then he did.

* * *

For a beat it was silent.

Then Henry practically raced over to Emma, and hugged her as tight as he could, exclaiming, "I love you, I love you, I love you!" with Emma's blonde hair being "eaten" in his mouth, but she didn't mind.

In fact, she held him closer, and something inside her, _surged_ and threatened to burst out. She would never take these hugs, or her son, for granted again after Neverland. It made her steps-and her heart-lighter, just even hearing his name and having him around.

He was one of her two weaknesses, and hell, she couldn't care less about having another one aside from Henry.

* * *

Henry could hear the footsteps and practically collapsed in relief. But it was the sweetest thing ever, what his mom had said, and he realized that she really did love him and the pirate.

He didn't think he'd mind sharing, as long as they kept their hands to themselves when he wasn't around. A new sibling wasn't in the cards for him yet, hopefully.

* * *

Hurriedly (why hurriedly, Emma thought) Henry said, "Okay, mom, we don't have to go to Disneyland," with his face still buried in blonde hair.

Emma smiled. "About that..."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

Emma watched curiously as Henry leaped up as if his pants were on fire and ran to the door, shouting back, "I'll get it!"

* * *

Henry sighed in relief at the figure who had become almost like a father in the weeks during the so-called "Operation Yellow Bug." And now, he'd get a chance to become that-and more-for real.

"You ready?" he whispered to the man in the suit. _No longer Captain Hook, but Killian Jones._

Killian nodded, and Henry saw his nerves show for the first time in, like, ever.

It was weird, seeing him in anything but the leather garb he usually wore, but having picked it out with him, Henry was sure Emma would love the change of attire.

As rehearsed, Henry embraced Killian, and said abnormally loudly, "Thanks for saving me in Neverland!"

* * *

Emma came to the door, surprised to see the two guys she most loved, _love, what an inadequate word to describe this feeling_, hugging it out in her doorway.

Killian winked at her and shot her a _Can we tell him now? _look. Emma rolled her eyes at the former ladykiller and gave him a swift nod.

Unseen by her, the two compatriots shook each others' hand, and Henry patted Killian on the back to reassure him.

Emma barely stifled a chuckle as Killian waggled his eyebrows at her and told Henry, "If you'll excuse me, it appears I have something to give to your mother, lad." He strode over to Emma, who was inwardly panicking, because, _wait_, this wasn't supposed to happen, they were only telling Henry they were dating, but it appeared Killian had something else in mind...

Emma, unable to move, paralyzed in half fright and half awe, watched Killian get down on one knee in slow motion. "What are you doing?" she hissed at him.

"Emma Swan. For 300 years, I was consumed by lost love and revenge, and until now, I had no reason to believe that I could ever love again. But, one day, a blonde woman with flashing gray eyes kicked my ass repeatedly, and the more I was kicked down, the more I fell in love. I...Emma, gods, you taught me how to-"

Before he could finish the speech, Emma slapped him, hard, tears that she didn't even realize were there streaming down her face.

"Gods, Killy, I don't need the goddamn speech. What do you think?" Possessed by uncharacteristic joy that only came about when she was with Killian, Emma grabbed her (and _only her_) pirate and kissed him full on the lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Henry wink and nod at the dark kitchen behind her. _What the hell is going on...?  
_

The lights in the kitchen flickered on, and amidst cheers, clapping, and whistles, Emma could hear Mary Margaret yell "Congratulations!"

Emma stood in awe at the chaos occurring about her.

She observed Henry run up to Killian and the two shaking hands, Henry's voice plaintively making clear that Operation Mrs. Jones was complete. _So that's where he was when he always went running off! And to think I didn't even know he was lying. _Emma shook her head, but inwardly laughed. The _nerve _of that boy. So much like her.

Mary Margaret, and the rest of Storybrooke, had apparently known what was going to happen and had taken the opportunity to squeeze and sneak into Emma's kitchen and house, thanks to Regina and her skeleton key. _How did I miss all the signs? _

David, with a slight slur, was lecturing Killian on taking care of his daughter. "And I dun' want 'er making babies wi' you yet..."

Granny held a beautiful two layer cake, with half black and half white frosting, with a swan and a hook decorated on the front.

Gods. Emma couldn't even believe it was possible. As hard as she tried to fight it, Emma felt a flood of tears dam up behind her eyes, and only let them fall when, across the room, she saw Killian, wiping his eyes and making a show of hiding it.

Ignoring her phlegmy laugh, eyes wide, Emma asked, disbelieving, "You guys did this _all for me_ _and Killian_?" She had never felt so, so _at home _in her life as she did at the moment.

Then Killian half stepped, half staggered forward, looking nervous and adorable and happy, with a smirk on his lips. "Stubborn, aren't we, Emma? It seems you ran away from me before I could gift you this."

Although he was a bit red around the eyes, he looked no less adorable, and Emma felt her heart melt as her pirate placed the small silver band, adorned with a diamond that shone like the stars of Neverland, on her finger. He brushed his lips lightly across her hand and whispered, "Now, you can never run away from me, love."

Before he left, Emma couldn't help but grab his shoulder, spin him around and press her lips to his for the second time that day amidst cheers and shouts.

Her forehead against his, not caring about the level of attention paid to them, she winked and whispered, "Who said I ever wanted to run away from you?"

Killian, ever the jokester, retorted, "Maybe we should try handcuffs for the honeymoon, then."

As he walked off to get cake for the two of them, at least Emma thought that was his goal, because he had a strange smirk on his face suggesting otherwise, Emma let herself take in her surroundings again.

And in that moment, something broke within Emma, those walls that had been built up for so long crashing down for good, and Emma felt as though all she had the power to do was burst with joy.

Before she realized she had been crying, she noticed Killian come up to her with a concerned look on his face, a worried expression in his eyes. "What's wrong, love?"

She could think of no other thing to do but hug him, to clasp him in an embrace so tight his hook dug into her back, because she never wanted to ever let him go.

"I love you."


	2. It's You

**A/N: Short little continuation for you guys! Thanks for waiting, my muse went into hiding I suppose. But I'm back and I already have an idea for part three of this triple-shot? It may or may not be fluff or angsty, I may do their wedding though. I'm more inspired during boring classes, sigh. Thanks for all the favorites and follows, they are greatly appreciated :)  
**

* * *

Emma groaned with pleasure as Killian planted soft kisses hungrily against her neck, running his warm hands against her cold body. She was hungry, no, _starving_ for him, this being their first night together, with Henry at Regina's for the time being. She wanted, _needed_ to enjoy this night before she threw herself back into the dreadful world of wedding planning, and she clutched at Killian's hair, nibbled his ears, _fought_ for him like she'd always wanted to.

"You devious little minx, how do you put this damned spell on me?" he moaned, the noise like music to Emma's ears.

"Gods, Kill-" He stopped abruptly and stared at something shiny against her breasts. His panting was the only sound in the dark, cool room, and Emma stared at him, annoyed that he'd ceased giving her warmth.

"Killian."

No response.

She stared at him, seeking that glimmer that appeared in his eyes so often when he teased and taunted her, but it was not there. Instead, his eyes were chips of ice, cold, hard, unrelenting.

When he spoke, his voice was hardly more than a whisper, yet it hurt her like a stab in the heart, the only sound audible in the darkened room.

"What is this? You, you still l-love him?" The tremors in her captain's voice caused her to look down at her chest, her eyes falling upon a necklace she hadn't realized was still there.

"Killian, I swear, I completely forgot I wore it, otherwise it would've been gone long-"

"Swan, please, don't." His voice was hard, and it hit her like the cool metal of a sword, a sword cutting into the tangible tension of the room;yet when she met his eyes they were glassy, tears on the verge of falling.

Without another word he departed, throwing on his pants and his coat in the bathroom as though it was nothing.

A single, heart-wrenching sob was all Emma heard before the bang of the door slamming shut.

* * *

Bloody fucking stupid goddamn thoughts.

_Stop thinking, just stop, stop crying_...

The tears forging a rugged path down his face refused to stop.

How had he _ever_ thought, what the hell was he thinking when he even fooled himself into thinking he would _ever_ be _more_ than just the guy who flirted with her?

He'd done _everything _for her. _Every. Goddamn. Thing. _Possible.

Killian wanted so badly to stab himself with his hook, if he hadn't forgotten it in her fucking room. If that, or anything, would stop the pain coursing through his heart at the thought, the sight of the swan necklace which he couldn't unsee.

On their first night together, two bodies combining into one in perfect harmony, feeling as if he would and could never find anyone else like her, he'd thought, oh _gods_ he'd thought...

Oh, Emma Swan.

He'd thought that she loved him, possibly even more than he loved her if such a feat was even humanly possible, but then he'd seen the swan necklace. The one from Bae, Neal.

He remembered when he first saw her wearing it, when she talked about it by his bedside in the hospital. She'd probably forgotten, seeing as he'd been practically incapable of formulating a proper response.

_"It's nothing to me. It's a reminder, that I can't trust anyone. Because-_he remembered, that crack in her soft voice, how a tear had dropped down from her eye and how quickly she had brushed it away-_"Because when I do, when I put my faith in someone, anyone, they leave me. They always leave me, Hook. The truth is, is that I don't remember how to trust. I don't even, can't even imagine what true trust is." _She'd laughed, but Killian had wanted to tell her so badly that he knew, he _knew_ what she felt. _"Maybe it's just the side effect of being an orphan. But I know that if someone, if anyone is able to tear down all my walls-"  
_

Emma had stopped there. She'd looked away and assumed she was talking to a sleeping body and probably assumed he wouldn't care if she stopped talking.

She didn't know he'd seen how she looked at the necklace, the slightest and smallest of kisses that she planted upon it after her impromptu speech.

Could she? Did she still harbor a scrap of love for her first love? Was _he _her true love? Was, was everything just a bloody _lie_?

Emma and Neal.

Neal and Emma.

Those two words had barely ran around in Killian's head when he banished them. _No, no, no. Bad form, Killian.  
_

As he wandered the streets of Storybrooke through the dark of the night, the moon and stars hidden from sight, a thought overtook him and put his mind in its clutches: maybe, just maybe,_ he_ was being selfish.

He let the thought overtake him, sweep him off his feet like the wind that blew by him just as suddenly as the thought had occurred to him.

And subsequently, many other thoughts followed, like such: Maybe he should give _her_ the benefit of the doubt, think of her first, put her first as was his instinct now. Maybe _he_ was the one that didn't trust her. After all, Milah left him. Bae, no, Neal, left him. Liam left, his father, his mother, _every goddamn person_ he knew had died or ran away or just decided he wasn't worthy of their attention or their trust.

And look how he ended up, a shell of his former self hell-bent on revenge until he'd seen the light, seen Emma, the bloody brilliant witch she was.

Emma, on the other hand, grew up with no one who loved her, at least that was the illusion she had been given, and she had spent twenty eight years without a single friend or person on her side.

Now that was true abandonment. Killian didn't want to leave her, not again, and even if she did love Neal he wanted her to be happy.

She deserved to be happy, and if he was standing in her way, well, then, he was the only person who could fix it.

Wiping his tears with a grimace, setting his face into a mask, and wishing for a taste of his beloved rum, he set off back for the loft, his footsteps echoing across the silent town.

* * *

Emma stared at the door as though she could just rewind time, force Killian back into the room, _drag _him if need be. If she could only bring him back to explain...

With a sigh, she looked down at the swan necklace and without thinking, overcome with emotion, she tore it off her neck.

And smashed it, and beat it and ruined it and brought all kinds of havoc down upon it, trying to send it to a necklace hell if there was any.

"Goddamn it! Why the _hell_ do I have this on still? Why didn't I _think? _Oh god, what does Killian _think_ of me now? What if he never comes back?"

The act of yelling and beating up the necklace strangely brought a wave of calm upon Emma, who realized what she'd done and sat down on the bed blankly and unsteadily.

She remembered exactly when Henry had given it to her, still in the throngs of Operation: Yellow Bug and full of hope over having a real family again.

_"Mom, look what Neal gave me! It's the necklace! Put it on, put it on!" _She had been too frazzled and tired from a full day's work to argue and she had just simply put it on and forgot to remove it.

Everyone else had forgotten that she even had it, even Neal. _What a testimony to his fighting for me and his faithfulness_, she thought with a bitter chuckle, although she knew it wasn't fair to diss the man who had given up his "happiness" so that she could be with her true love.

Killian. She threw her head into her hands and groaned.

Goddamn it, he had torn down all her walls and she wanted him with her forever, she could never _fake_ the burning passion she felt, the hunger she had for Killian, the craving she always had for him. He had made her happier than she had ever thought was humanly possible, soothed her and comforted her and reassured her and teased her and done it _all_ for her when she needed it the most.

And she repaid him by keeping the necklace on.

Emma remembered telling him about it when he had been in the hospital ages ago, when she was still gauging his character and searching for who he really was.

Did he remember everything? Had he just been asleep when she talked about it?

She had had feelings for Neal at the time. Idealistic, moronic, stupid feelings, but they were feelings all the same, and her being an open book to him left no doubt to her that he had picked up on that.

She knew how it looked, but she would swear on her life, if he asked her, that she had no romantic feelings left for Neal whatsoever.

"Please, Killian." _Don't leave me. Come back._

* * *

Killian reached the loft and gave a sigh. _Good form, Killian. _

Then, heart pounding, he rang the doorbell.

* * *

Instinctively, she knew. She _knew_, she _felt _it in her heart.

_It's him.  
_

Quietly, in awe, she muttered, "He...he came back..."

When he opened the door, Emma felt relief and shock and happiness and everything pulsing within her and she was struck by impulse.

Doing the only thing she could think of, she grabbed Killian, pulled him close and brought his lips to hers, a kiss like that in Neverland but filled with more passion, with desire and "sorry's" and all the things they wanted to say to each other and _everything_, _god__damn it she loved him. _

"It's you, Killian. It, it's always been you."


	3. It All Came Back

**A/N: There is character death but most of the oneshot is Killian's thoughts and remembrances of his encounters with Emma. Sorry if he's OOC, I did try to incorporate innuendos and his smirkiness and how he changes with his viewpoint of Emma. This takes place after "Dark Hallow" assuming everyone arrived safely without hitches (therefore, no other episodes exist after "Dark Hallow"). If you want to read about "Operation Mrs. Jones" it's the first chapter of this oneshot trifecta. Also, if you have any requests for me to expound on anything regarding the oneshot (e.g. Killian and Emma's vows), please give me a review or suggestion! Sorry for the long introduction, but I felt it was necessary. Please enjoy and review or favorite! Thank you so much, everyone who already has.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, sadly, own the wonderful song "Say Something" or any OUAT characters. (Respectively A Great Big World and Adam and Eddy do :)**

* * *

It all came back in flashes.

* * *

The woman would be a tough one to figure, at least to other people, but dare he say it? he identified with her somehow.

As if...the lass was meant for him.

No.

He would not give himself that hope, because it could bloody well destroy him.

She was just an obstacle in his way; he had a motive, and she interfered with his plans.

Just, you know, your typical stubborn, flashing-eyed, feisty woman (though, no doubt, those were all qualities that held a certain appeal to him in a female) who got on his nerves constantly with her confounding ability to see right through him.

But for the time, he observed offhandedly that the lass was resourceful and that could aid him for the meantime, in getting to the beanstalk.

What happened later was of no matter; the present contained significantly more heft than the future, and he would decide then if she was worthy of allying himself with.

Besides, he was never one to resist the company of a beautiful woman.

* * *

It was required for him to take the effort of being an actual person, not just a man spewing innuendos who shamelessly flirted with her to get her to talk, that was certain, he perceived quickly. Such a shame; if the woman tried just bloody trusting him, or just in general she could be quite pleasant.

He could be quite pleasant too, at least he was in a past age, and he had certain _specialties_ if she just stuck around long enough...

He tried again, prying into her past, easily distinguishing the residual sorrow that hung around her, the aura of an orphan, and her unwavering devotion for her son.

That wasn't the only person she'd ever loved, however.

To her credit, she was able to detect that he had been in love, in a time where his heart had not gone completely blackened and dark. Despite her superhuman attempts to lie to him, he still knew, so had she. Once, like him, but a love that ruined her heart.

Maybe they were somewhat alike.

No. He wouldn't have left her like she left him on the fucking beanstalk.

She'd saved him from falling over the tripwire, but clearly it was just a distraction to fool him into believing that she trusted him.

That goddamned Swan.

And now, he was stuck in the _loveliest_ of places-the beanstalk.

Next time he encountered her, he was going to take a great deal of enjoyment in telling her to bugger off.

* * *

As fate would have it, the next time their paths crossed was after she had no escape.

He used the opportunity to gloat, because him and Cora were almost victorious-was there any doubt?

Still. Almost was never enough, he knew that from experience.

He couldn't resist pouring salt in her wound, though, taunting that her hope was shriveled, lost gone; that she and her companions, foolish women they were, possessed the upper hand no longer, and in fact they had never possessed it at all.

She was useless to him, yet he took a sort of boyish pleasure in seeing her face.

Meeting those _eyes_, clouded with such sadness, yet such determination. Always determination.

Too bad it wasn't determination to go certain places with him...

It was simply amusing, how quickly he could forget such a simple thing such as her tenacity.

* * *

He knew she had him cornered, on his back, both mentally and physically.

"Bloody hell" had become his primary catchphrase when dealing with her.

Was he becoming emotionally compromised? Damn.

Every part of him, though, refused to back down against her, an unrelenting force whose wrath was directed toward him yet again.

He did like the view from below, though.

But of course, the little minx bested him once again, the only person, he reasoned dumbly, that had done so multiple times and not been on the receiving end of a hook through their chest or head or such.

As Cora raged endlessly, he tuned her out and fingered the tender bruise where she had struck him, pondering the mystery of why he had kept her alive this long. Whenever he saw her face, he forgot all about revenge, which was terrible, since it was necessary to eliminate her, and soon, if he wanted the crocodile. He had come upon one opportunity after another to show her no mercy, to show her Captain Hook at his finest, and yet...he held back.

Peculiar thoughts for a man such as him, these were.

* * *

Well, heaven was just as wonderful as he imagined.

Or not, as he observed that he was apparently still tied down to this strange white bed, imprisoned in a drab gray room, stripped bare of main furnishings excluding his bed, a shiny white board, and machines.

But you know, Swan was there.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad if Swan worked here.

She could very well count as heaven, he reasoned, and she looked like she would excel at other services other than keeping him company.

He might as well try to win her over, now being as good a time to start as any other. Countless times he deflected her futile inquiries of Cora with smoldering smirks and devilish innuendos (some of them were quite good, if he did say so himself), but all to no avail.

She was, unfortunately, dead set on the one piece of information he wouldn't surrender: Cora's location.

She made that crystal clear with the bruises that were now on top of his already bruised ribs.

Fuck, that hurt. In a good way, he reasoned.

At least she'd somewhat made up for it by informing him of that jiggly thing she called "Jell-O." It did have a nice mouthfeel, despite being quite appalling to look at (what kind of bloody food came in ungodly colors like blue?). "Jell-O" was also truly a ridiculous name.

On another hand, he was starting to remember what failure felt like.

Starting to remember flashes of a better him, things he had buried within himself long ago, things, gods forbid, that Swan never dig up.

_Liam-Miliah-Bae..__._

He didn't want to add a certain blonde-haired woman with a salty mouth to those list of people. He'd all failed them.

Still, he had to guard himself from her. She caught him off guard too many times, too many close calls were never good because they'd always catch up with you, he'd learned long ago.

But truth be told, he wouldn't mind getting to know her better.

Just a peek. (In other places wouldn't be bad either.)

He told himself repeatedly he refused to get close. After all, she was still blocking his way.

Or was she really the way he needed to travel?

His head ached from his thoughts running over a well-beaten path.

Maybe some Jell-O, if not rum, would provide an answer.

* * *

This was quickly becoming an all-too-familiar situation for him.

Really, shoved and locked into her ex-boyfriend's, not to forget the Dark One's son and the father of her child's storage closet?

He really was losing his touch.

Pity. He had been ever so _close_ to the bloody fucking crocodile.

Sadly, the closer he got to revenge, the more it seemed to distance him from Emma. (He only ever called her that in his head. Now when had that become a habit?)

As much as he denied it, the thought of choosing between revenge or...a hope for more was undesirable.

Although, locked in a closet, that time would not be coming any time soon.

* * *

Yet again she surprised him.

It seemed they had a connection, if not an attraction, where one's thoughts were instantaneously known by the other. Of course, that had been what he took notice of first, her self-reliance, and gods, he possessed that quality and had for over 300 years.

Why was he letting her take that quality away from him? It was as if he had it on display, screaming to her to take his self-reliance away.

Maybe he was just a bloody foolish old wanker. Aye, that he was.

But bloody hell, she was getting through to him, he couldn't lie to himself any longer. (He'd still attempt to.)

However, he still was concerned about himself; he needed to protect himself, and his desire to do so trumped his desire to choose a side.

He was keeping the bean for now; he had to hold the upper hand in that situation, at least, because she held the advantage in another matter.

He could hold the upper hand in yet _another _situation, if she was up for it.

Well, he was starting to lose something else.

At least, he was only starting to realize something that his heart had recognized long ago.

* * *

Damn it, what in _blazes_ was happening to him?

What was he doing, even sparing a thought about returning for Emma and the rest of her motley crew, who most likely didn't give a rat's ass about him?

Was he, gods forbid, becoming _soft_?

For years he had survived on his own, striking fear into others' hearts, aided by the blackness of his heart.

Not realizing what he was doing at first, he pulled out his heart, expecting it to be, if not midnight black, at least navy blue?

In its center, in his heart's _very core_ laid a tiny crimson spot amidst the darkness.

When he put it back inside, he _knew_.

That _goddamned, _bloody Emma had torn his walls down. She'd made a crack in the fearsome Captain Hook.

She was making him soft, he grumbled.

He couldn't deny that he was doing this for her.

But she was also giving him the ability to see things more vividly and brightly, one that he had not had since very long ago. She was, unfortunately, changing him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He was setting sail for Storybrooke.

She shouldn't have been so shocked that he came back.

After all, he could feel again.

Not that he hadn't been able to feel _other_ sensations...

* * *

He had been sitting on the question. (Gods, what was going on with him? He had never been one to think first.)

What move should he make next?

Should he converse with her such as a normal man would? Flirt with her? Leave her be? After all, it was her son, her love, who was taken. She probably didn't need him bugging her.

He then settled on a rare sentimental gesture, hoping it would mean something to her.

He saw the hurt etched in her eyes when anyone talked of Neal and his passing; the rage, that she was powerless to stop it. He saw himself, in those moments after Milah died in front of him, and it scared him.

Her face when she glimpsed Neal's cutlass was heartwrenching, if it was necessary for him to use such a word.

Those twenty-eight years of abandonment revealed themselves on her face, and for a second he let all his walls down and stared at her unabashedly, at her completely vulnerable, and it touched something in him that longed so badly to fix her.

But he knew him, a pirate, a bad man, would never be able to.

Still, "no" had never stopped him from trying.

* * *

Oh, buggering _fucking _hell, oh damn.

She was _not_ dying on him, gods forbid she should because if she did his second chance died with her.

Goddamn it, she _needed_ to breathe, and he would _physically_ breathe into her if it would cause her chest to begin to rise and fall as normal.

And he couldn't breathe, he _just couldn't_, until he saw her cough water up and shoot him a steely glare, as he slowly realized he was panting as fast as she was.

What a wanker he was, indeed.

A petty crush was one thing, but falling was a completely different story.

He had started to need her. And he bloody well needed to stop.

* * *

It's oddly comforting that she trusts him, albeit a shaky kind of trust, to guide them through Neverland. He's making some kind of progress, at least he supposes.

Gods, why _is_ he tracking his progress with her? She's not just another woman he wants under his belt, and he's not exactly the type of man to think of these things.

At least she doesn't condemn him like at the beanstalk.

They always seem to be involved in dangerous situations together, but this time is different. This time, they're on the same side. And though it is hard for him to admit, seeing as he _is_ their leader land-wise, the lass, Emma, she does make a very good leader.

He admires that. The dedication and determination and _fire_ she possesses, how she doesn't let the desperation from losing her lad and his father eat away at her.

Not like he did to him.

She has to know that he won't hurt the crocodile, that he won't harm the man as long as he is doing good and Emma needs him.

She _needs_ to know that he is _not_ the enemy, not the villain, and he will never be, when something involving her or the lass herself is in the balance.

He wants her to know that he can relate to her.

But it's not a matter of convincing her, not truly.

It's a matter of convincing the others.

If it felt right, if there was ever a good time, he wanted to tell her that he wanted her to get her son back, to be happy, that he _knew_, felt it in his _guts_ that she would succeed.

And, in addition, he wouldn't mind her explaining the gravity of waxed moustaches and perms.

* * *

Who is Emma Swan, truly?

The map knows, hence why it worked, and he can't help but give his curiosity free reign.

He wants to know the answer to that question.

She looks good in bed, that's for sure.

All jokes aside, he hopes he truly will, someday.

* * *

Despite their uneasiness around each other, the awkwardness that came with new lovers (not that they were, or would ever be, of course, he remarked bitterly in his head), he longs to comfort her with more than flirting and endless banter.

Though, he does want to comfort her in a more..._physical _way.

But, all attraction aside, he knows firsthand what it is like to lose all hope. He remembers how he became one of the lowest of the low, how he lost all emotion and how he felt nothing.

He didn't think anything would ever be right again.

He wants her to _know_ that he understands.

But she just _keeps_ running away.

* * *

Gratitude can be shown in many forms.

He has to admit, he quite prefers this one to any other.

In fact, he's been craving it, dreaming of it in his dreams before he even knew who he was kissing, for many hours and days, though she must not know that. Unless she could feel it in the kiss's intensity, but she matched his with a higher level, giving him hope that maybe, just maybe, she has been coveting it too.

The goddamn passion, the intensity, the hunger, all those _bloody _emotions spill out of them, pouring out onto each other's lips, as if there was no tomorrow and there was only now, only this moment that he wanted to last _forever_…

Then abruptly, it's over.

She pushes him away bluntly and tells him that it was a one-time thing. Of course, she would deny that she enjoyed it. She has no choice but it pains him, just a tinge, but when he returns to camp, her eyes hold something they haven't, at least not since she lost her lad.

A smile.

_He _had made her smile.

Oh, he really was something-accomplishing the impossible, add that to his long list of accolades.

* * *

There was always a choice.

This time he chose to say it, to tear his walls down, to let the others know what he had seemingly already known for a long time.

He had to be, for once, selfless, but there was no one else in all the realms that he would rather be selfless for.

Despite the fact that Pan had expected (in vain) to break his spirit and crush his heart by taunting him, revealing that Neal-Bae-was alive, telling him he was nothing but a pirate, he knew he had to be the lieutenant he once was for Emma.

If he was being completely honest with himself, she had changed him, from the fearsome Captain Hook back to the hopeful, the idealistic, the foolish Lieutenant Killian Jones.

So reluctantly, because there was only one person he longed to tell this, he released the knowledge of what the kiss between him and Emma made him realize.

Before the kiss, the attraction had been just that-an attraction. Nothing more, nothing less.

Well, who could resist his charm? Except her.

No sooner than he had laid his lips upon the lass's soft ones, there was no more denying that he had fallen hard ages ago, before he himself even knew he would.

But what pained him the most was not the reception of the knowledge by Charming and Snow, but Emma's blunt acknowledgement of his confession.

He could normally read her face like a book, but at the moment it was a blank slate.

Maybe she was fooling him, but then he realized she had never been a woman prone to lying unless absolutely necessary.

Never mind his feelings.

She had Neal and all she needed was Henry.

He didn't even know if he was important to her, but her happiness was all that was important to him.

As long as you know, he got a little extra _something_ in the deal.

* * *

The woman was _completely _daft.

Bloody Emma was utterly unobservant if she could not even perceive that it was her who him and Neal had been fighting over, not just a lighter. It was insignificant, but if they made an impression on her was all that mattered.

Gods, either one of them would've let a shadow rip out their essence gladly, even in good cheer, if Emma had ordered it, if only the goddamn woman would _realize_ that!

Before that whole fiasco, however, he had confronted her in hopes that the kiss carried some weight with her; that had been why he revealed his dalliance with Emma to Neal. He knew it was horrible timing and he felt a pang of guilt, but he had let himself get carried away that one time.

But to his complete disappointment, she was firm-it was and would always remain a one-time thing.

She'd finally started to believe in him, fate would have it.

Couldn't the blasted woman see that he cared about her and her happiness more than he cared for his own damn life?

He was a useless, lovelorn, foolish, idealistic stupid pirate.

Not even that, he was a damn wanker.

Pity.

But he put the utmost conviction and sincerity in his words when he told her the truth, so it would strike her. He _would_ win her affections, fair and square, no flirting, no trickery, no deception.

He couldn't help but be pleased when his was the only name she called when him and Neal were snatched up by the shadows. (Well, of _course_).

* * *

He was taken by surprise, there was no doubt about it.

Why was she talking to him? And now, when she had all the pieces of her family falling into place, when it was all over and everyone was safely on the Jolly heading home? They were grateful to him, but they would never accept him.

He would have given anything to be seen as a hero like Neal.

Which was why, at night upon his beloved Jolly when everyone was below deck, he was utterly dumbfounded that she kissed him.

_Again_.

So much for one-time thing, love.

But he reveled in the pleasure of this one just as much as the first, the kiss a small victory in itself. It was amazing, soft and sweet and full of love and hope and promise.

It gave him hope that he could be better.

And it was all it took for him to realize that she really did care for him, because he could see her making a visible effort to tear down her walls, since she had deemed it right.

He _had_ predicted it, once again. He was just so amazing, that he had won her heart.

But when they stood there, in silence, observing the stars and listening to the rocking of the boat against calm seas, he felt himself and Emma become part of the scenery.

He felt her become part of him.

Damn, it may have mostly been perfect because of him.

No, not really.

It was all her.

* * *

Secret dates, clandestine kisses and hopes for…a little _more_ on the physical end of things haunted his thoughts.

At least he was getting to her, something he had thought was never going to happen.

Until he started hoping…damn. He guessed they had been right, all happy endings started with hope.

And if the gods and fate were on his side, Emma _was_ his happy ending.

When Henry, the lad being as brilliant as his mother, caught on to Emma and him, and realized Neal was not part of Emma's future, he began a devious plan (oh, the lad was really after his own heart) code name "Operation: Mrs. Jones."

The frenzied planning with Henry filled his thoughts and his time.

Though he'd never thought of himself as a child person, the lad was keen and open-minded, qualities that he quite admired in a person and Henry was quite observant for his age, not to mention he had a killer wit, although his attention to detail was somewhat perturbing at times.

But if he was being honest, spending time with Henry was quite enjoyable, especially their little debates on how to propose, how to keep the plan secret (turns out, neither of them were very good at hiding things, and quickly the whole town warmed to the idea, even Regina, Gold, and Neal), and what ring to pick out.

Which was good, because the only ring he'd ever heard of was a scream of delight. Long story short, back in his…gigolo days, he'd named himself the idiotic name of "Ring" and much chaos resumed…

But there was no mistaking how much pride he took in the little speech he prepared for Emma. Despite the fact that she interrupted him when he hadn't even gotten to the good part, that blasted woman.

But damn, he loved her.

And apparently, she did too.

In addition to the booming success of "Operation: Mrs. Jones," he had heard her say the best words he had ever heard from her.

She had said she loved him.

And he didn't think his heart could've been any fuller.

* * *

His heart refused to stop its racing pulse on the day of the wedding, which dawned bright, clear and sunny-a perfect day for sailing.

Was it not somewhat ironic, if that was the correct word to use, that he was getting married on the Jolly?

Surprisingly, it was Emma, not his, request. She had reasoned that many of their nights had been spent on the Jolly and she wanted to remember the day.

Well, of course, she wanted to relive some _other_ fantasies of hers as well, and who could blame her; he was irresistible. Although he only wanted to be irresistible to her.

It was shocking, the turnout of Storybrooke, and if his boat wasn't enchanted he would imagine that it would be long locked in Davy Jones's closet. Even Neal and Gold had come, the latter unwillingly, to observe the event.

Neal had even given him a sword, a beauty of an object, to acknowledge that he had won the lady fairly and that he was glad she was happy. Well, Neal had Tinkerbell now, so obviously he didn't mind as much that his first love was getting married. But he'd like to assume that Neal felt just a tad jealous, just to make him feel superior. If that wasn't too bad, after all, Neal _had_ left Emma, but he didn't want to think about that on the wedding day.

Gold had grunted a gruff congratulations to Emma and him before she left to get ready.

He couldn't wait to see her in her dress.

More importantly, he couldn't wait to see what was _under_ after the wedding.

One of the things that touched him most, however, was Charming, now David to him, embracing him. Well, he had to slap the former pirate first, but the embrace was what touched him. Him and David, no doubt, had grown close over the past few weeks, bonding about the ridiculousness of women and weddings. They had even shared a few, alright, _many_ drinks and drunken nights on the couch, which may or may not have involved learning about a karaoke machine and how to work it.

He was just glad no one had seen it.

But anyway, he was, gods forbid, nervous. His hands were sweaty and the smile on his face was just beginning to slide off when the wedding bells rang up on the crow's nest while wedding music played and Emma came out of the captain's quarters with David.

If there was a better word to describe Emma than "breathtaking" or "spectacular" or "gorgeous," he would have no doubt used it and he could not deny that any word was inadequate to describe how she looked.

She was beautiful.

And she was unbelievably, completely _his_.

Doubtless, he looked akin to a drooling puppy as he stared at her, trying to radiate to her the compassion, the admiration, the _love_ he felt for her.

Gods, if the whole _town_ wasn't there, he thought he was going to faint from her beauty and her aroma as she was lifted up next to him.

He had to stifle a chuckle when he saw she looked twice as nervous as he, but he smiled at her and reassured that everything, _everything_ would go right.

The ceremony passed by in a blur, since his eyes never left Emma's face, but when it came time for the vows, he knew it was his turn to tell her how much he loved her.

And he did.

He spilled out a myriad of feelings he would have previously been ashamed of, he told her what she meant to him, that he would _never_ leave her side or run away from her (trying to avoid a pointed glance at Neal), and that he would never, _ever_ take her for granted.

She looked adorable, even crying.

And he cried too, though he was ashamed to admit it; he hadn't expected her to say what she did.

He still couldn't believe that she thought he was a hero, that he was a good man and that she _believed_ in him, that _she_ loved _him_.

Gods, he loved her.

And when he was told to kiss the bride, he didn't hesitate for a second before clutching her face in his gently but kissing her hungrily, attacking her lips with a fervor that she matched and even surpassed.

Added to his long list of firsts with her that night was their first movie night.

At least _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and _Hook _were watchable.

But _Peter Pan_…well. Now he knew what perms and waxed moustaches were.

He was just...speechless.

Obviously they'd never met the real Captain Hook.

* * *

No. Bloody buggering hell, fuck those blasted stupid bastards, what the hell had they done to his Emma?

Oh gods, please, oh gods, _no. _

Why was she just laying there? Why wasn't she moving?

Why was there a red crimson trail from her chest falling down, down, down her body?

This wasn't real. This was just a dream.

But if it was, then why was he hurting? Why was his hurt so tangible?

So many why's. But most importantly, why had people killed her and why had they

_True love's kiss_. _It has to work_. And he kissed her. He kissed her with an almost primal hunger, attacked her lips with the most force he could muster, cradled her head, kissed her with fervor, kissed her softly, kissed her sweetly, but oh gods, nothing _worked_.

_Nothing_ worked.

He couldn't breathe.

He stared dumbly at the body laying motionless before him and his head spun and oh _gods_, why? _Why_?

Before he could even process the thought, the tears came crashing down, with a fervor that rivaled that of water unleashed from a dam.

_Please, please, lease, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE _rang the words in his head, clashing together and forming a steady refrain that crushed his heart.

Her cold wanton face was all he saw.

* * *

The town was silent. Cold, gloomy, devoid of spirit and spark.

And no wonder why.

_Emma's dead._

The condolences of countless people pass in one ear and out another. He is no longer an entity but an empty shell, remaining in this land for what reason?

It's beautiful in a sad way, how Mary Margaret and David have decorated her memorial with flowers, the blanket they gave her, and a picture of her and him. Simple, but fitting.

He can barely sit through the funeral.

He was startled when the tears stopped and he felt a sheer coldness on his face.

It reminded him that he was alive.

He can barely deliver an audible eulogy, for his words become jumbled and useless when he tries to speak, and in the end all he says is that he loved her. That he was in love with her.

It's all he has the energy to say.

But really, it's the truth.

Oh gods, how he _loved _her. She was taken too _damn_ early, taken _right_ when she had everything to live for.

She was _pregnant_.

And no one knew but him.

He would find those bastards and hunt them down, but he knew Emma wouldn't want that. He was supposed to find love again, he knew she wanted it, but to be honest his last chance died with her.

Despite the fact that Emma would want him to stop being selfish, to tell him that he was stupid and that he should move on from her because he was always better than her anyway, he continued to be selfish. He can't live without her and she's the stupid one if she thinks otherwise.

His soul died with her.

Mary Margaret and Henry and David comfort him, take him in, give him food and shelter and warmth and he subconsciously knows he should be more receptive, act normal, at least have the _decency_ to act thankful. He knows, on some level, that they are as hurt as him. But they didn't know her like he did.

He knew her thoughts, her hopes, her dreams, her fears, her secrets before she even realized herself.

They let him be a shell.

And to be honest, that is all he ever wants to be if he has to be without his Emma.

* * *

He snapped back to life and looked around.

Maybe it really had been just a dream.

Maybe Emma was still alive.

But then, no.

His memories were just a dream. He could never relive them with the only one who mattered.

A side of his face was covered in dirt from lying upon the ground next to her gravestone, his hair tousled and matted and dark circles around his eyes.

The cold morning chill set in and he looked longingly at the grave, at the memorial, at the beautiful picture of him and Emma and her smile and-_oh, gods._

He didn't care if he was her true love, if she even cared about him at all, as long as she found a way to survive, as long as Regina or Gold or Tinkerbell or Mother Superior or some _goddamn_ person just _fixed_ her.

But it wouldn't happen.

He _knew_. Instinctively, he knew.

Which is why he had come prepared.

The morning passed by quickly; no one had come to check on him surprisingly. But that was good. What he had to do was of no concern to anyone. He didn't care any longer.

When his handiwork was done, he stepped back, pleased.

He then crossed over to Emma's grave, and kissed her picture with a sad sweet gravity that would have made any woman swoon.

"I love you, Emma Swan. And I'm sorry to do this, but I cannot be without you."

He wiped the tear that fell from his eye and swallowed.

The rustle of leather, the bang, and there was soft thud as well as a loud thud from landing in the hole.

Killian Jones was gone.

* * *

_Say something, I'm giving up on you._  
_ I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you._  
_ Anywhere, I would've followed you._  
_ Say something, I'm giving up on you._

_ And I will swallow my pride._  
_ You're the one that I love_  
_ And I'm saying goodbye._

* * *

**Thoughts, comments or suggestions? Thanks for reading!**


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